When The Jester Sang
by Wish Me Swell
Summary: Life, she realized, was about convictions: where one's trust was placed, where their beliefs held strong, and where their love was shared. From the beginning of her days until the very end, she learned how to have faith and what it meant to atone. Royai. Manga-based.


**AN: **Hiya guys, and welcome to _When The Jester Sang_! I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty Royai, but it is first and foremost Riza Hawkeye's life story, from notable beginning to end. This thing has been festering in the back of my mind for ages, but I've finally given in and put the story to paper. Also, this multi-chapter is manga based, with brotherhood thrown in where needed. So without further ado...

Disclaimer: I do not own Riza Hawkeye, Fullmetal Alchemist, or the song 9 Crimes. Shout out to my beta 4cherryblossoms and my sister for the help they've both given me with this thing.

**Chapter 1: 9 Crimes (Damien Rice)**

Living in Queensburgh, a small town on the border of West and Central, between Athenry and Roth, was a bit like living in purgatory, but with less eternal existentialism and more booze.

(This was assuming, of course, that purgatory did _not_ have booze, but the people of Queensburgh gave little thought about matters that did not concern their town directly.)

Though the town sat on the major railway line, its station was primarily used as a chance for the conductor to stretch his legs. Hardly anyone used the train coming or going, so most of the time the Ticketmaster never showed up for work. The older citizens chose to rouse him from his drunken stupor at the local bar when they wished to leave, but the younger generation had learned to forge their tickets in order to get a free ride.

Scattered farms surrounded Queensburgh proper and thick woods surrounded the farms, completely separating the town from the outside world. The next town over, Cherenbridge, graciously brought them a stack of newspapers via wagon every week and set them by the train station, but rarely were they ever touched. The only gossip the citizens of Queensburgh entertained was the internal sort. Every week, the day before the next batch of papers arrived, Mrs. Hudson, the owner of the local grocery, sent her strange, errand girl to remove them, out of courtesy for the next town.

In fact, Mrs. Hudson, and on a large scale, Hudson's grocery, was the only redeemable part of Queensburgh. She was widely acknowledged as the nicest person in town and her store, wooden and only slightly larger than a shack, was visited so frequently that rocking chairs of various sizes and colors were placed on the lawn in front of it, so people could wait in the queue in comfort or just simply visit. If anyone had a problem, whether it be lack of money or help with a crumbling marriage or a need for gardening tips, the logical place to go was to Mrs. Hudson.

Her only questionable characteristic, according to the townsfolk, was her choice of employees. Only one other person manned the store, an odd (even rumored to be disturbed), gangling girl with a deranged, reclusive father, both of whom lived in the house up north of the town past the crop fields. Very few people said anything to the girl's face, because Mrs. Hudson for some reason loved her dearly, but whispers circulated frequently about the Hawkeye family.

The father and his wife moved to Queensburgh around fifteen years ago. Though her husband rarely left the house, the wife visited the town frequently. But, the locals soon found out she was terrible conversation. Her speech was disorganized, random, and disconnected, and she was curious and analytical about subjects of the outside world that made the people of Queensburgh uncomfortable. Worse, she didn't even mind that nobody paid attention—she continued to talk regardless.

From her rambling, they did discover her husband was an alchemist, which only made the rumors more unfavorable. Most people in Queensburgh had never even _met_ an alchemist before, let alone have one live in their town, so they quickly deemed the entire practice unnatural and lived in alarm of their neighbor to the north.

A year into their move , the wife gave birth to a girl. She began to bring the child with her for her trips, but motherhood had faded the woman's crave for knowledge and her enthusiasm for life, so the mother-daughter pair mostly kept to themselves. As her happiness began to fade, her health traveled with it, and just after her daughter turned four, the woman died, leaving Riza Hawkeye and her father forlorn.

The Hawkeye family's reputation began to take an even greater decline as Berthold's sanity began to downward spiral. With his wife gone, he began to take the necessary trips into the village, each visit filling the townspeople with dread. He was a terrifying man and would often snap at people without any warning. As the girl grew older, he began to bring strange men into the town to teach them alchemy. On one particularly rough night, he set the local bar on fire.

By the time Riza was twelve and had completed the town's menial schooling, she had lived a life of loneliness and spent most of her time either at home, in the woods, or talking to Mrs. Hudson, who had gotten in the habit of helping her with her homework. When Mrs. Hudson's previous helper retired, she offered Riza the job.

In the morning, before the shop opened, Hudson's was her dance floor, illuminated by several, unscented candles and perfumed by the smell of spices before their scents were wafted into the cold air. She glided across the wooden floor to the tune of Mrs. Hudson's hums, sorting the produce into their proper blue-clothed, wicker baskets without a thought in the world. Though the shop was a bit dusty and stuffy in the morning, before the constant opening and closing of the front door circulated the air, it was easier to breathe in the mornings—easier to laugh, move, and smile—when she was unguarded.

Mrs. Hudson drifted between the front area and the backroom, her grey, messy bun popping up over shelves as she took inventory. Sometimes they made conversation before the store opened, but most days they enjoyed a comfortable lull. For an hour every morning, Riza's life was free of rude citizens, her father, and unpredictability; for an hour every day, she felt safe.

However, on January 04, 1902, Riza found some worries penetrated even the tightest of bubbles.

"Riza, dear, you're putting the potatoes in the beet bin."

"Huh?" she asked, looking up from the basket to find Mrs. Hudson gazing at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You're putting the potatoes in with the beets." As Mrs. Hudson's brow creased in worry, Riza's face flushed and she hastily corrected her mistake. "You seem distracted today. Are you feeling alright?"

"_No!" _she wanted to scream, feeling nauseous as her anxieties sent tremors through her stomach and crippled her shoulders in tension. However, she did not want to worry Mrs. Hudson, and for a moment, she was tempted to lie. On the other hand, the entire town would know soon enough anyways, so there was no point. Still, she felt sheepish for worrying at all.

"My father is getting a new apprentice."

"Another one? How many does that make now? Eight?"

"Nine." Her father's apprentices never lasted long. Between her father's unpredictable lessons and his even more unpredictable behavior, apprentices were normally in and out in a month. "He's arriving tonight."

"Do you even know who he is?"

"No. Father only told me yesterday."

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips. She had very little tolerance for Riza's father.

"It's not his fault," defended Riza. "He's been unwell again."

Berthold Hawkeye experienced harsh mood swings. During his emotional up periods, he wouldn't sleep, he'd hardly eat, and he'd spend most of his time researching in his study. In contrast, his down periods were spent doing nothing _but_ sleeping and eating, though he still rarely left his study.

"I don't like strange men staying at your house," said Mrs. Hudson, crossly. "You're only fourteen and your father doesn't do much…looking after you and it's not safe. Remember, dear, if you need someplace to stay, my guest room is always open to you."

Mrs. Hudson offered her spare room frequently and there were many times Riza took up the offer, when her father's mania was particularly out of control and his rage frightened her too deeply. However, she always felt guilty when she did, not only for intruding upon Mrs. Hudson but for leaving her father alone.

Still, the offer was tempting. A new apprentice in the house meant sleeping with her bedroom door locked, adjusting her schedule so she wouldn't interrupt any teaching, and dealing with more frequent outbursts from her father. However, the fact that apprentices greatly added to her father's stress was precisely the reason she needed to stay.

"I'll be fine, I promise."

"Maybe it's best I don't go to Cherenbridge today." Every Saturday, Mrs. Hudson took an overnight trip to the next town over in order to buy things that didn't grow in Queensburgh and entrusted the store to Riza. "There's not much in season right now anyways and I'd hate to the whole store to you today if you're feeling overwhelmed."

"No," said Riza hurriedly. Mrs. Hudson already did so much for her, and she wasn't going to let her own worries interfere with the old woman. "Go on. The work will keep my mind busy."

"Are you sure?"

"A bit of nerves never hurt anyone." This was probably false, she realized, but it sounded effective. "One of us is going to have to go to Cherenbridge today, and I don't know my way around."

"Stubborn girl," said Mrs. Hudson, affectionately cupping Riza's cheek. "I will agree to your terms, but you have to promise me something. If you get overwhelmed at any point, you are to close the store early. Understood?"

Riza let out a sigh of relief.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

For the first part of the morning, Riza thought she might make it out okay. People bustled in and out frequently, giving them plenty of business, and were surprisingly pleasant. No one insulted her family, most everyone remembered to wipe their boots of snow at the door, and only one person complained about her service.

Then Mrs. Langley, the town's chief gossip, arrived around noon.

The tiny, broad shouldered woman burst into the shop with a bang of the door, cold air flowing in behind her and mussing her wild hair dramatically. Mrs. Langley was a frequent resident of the grocery, loving to entertain the audiences in the rocking chairs outside with stretched truths and minor disputes she twisted into scandals. Though Mrs. Hudson did not facilitate gossip, believing a person's affairs were between them and god, the two had been best friends since before anyone could remember and Mrs. Langley had long ago developed a habit of ignoring Mrs. Hudson's scolding. They made an odd couple, but that's how they had always been.

Today, she had a particular look of triumph glowing in her eyes as she strutted straight towards the checkout desk, and the people in the shop immediately eyed her with interest. She must have put on quite the scene outside as well, because several people who had been previously sitting in the rocking chairs were peeking in the door. Riza had no interest in the happenings of the town, but Mrs. Langley had always been kind to her, so she greeted the woman with a pleasant smile.

"Hello, sweetie. Where's Leanne gone off to?"

"She's in Cherenbridge today."

"Ah, right. Saturday already, is it? Just as well then, because she'd kill me for what I'm about to do. You don't mind, do you?"

"Now that you've told me," said Riza, pointedly. "I can't claim plausible deniability."

"Oh, you know she won't be cross with _you._ But alright, tell me I can't do it."

Riza raised an eyebrow, but Mrs. Langley urged her on with a waving of her hand.

"You can't do…whatever you're about to do."

"Alright, now let's get this show on the road." She turned towards the spectators and took in a deep breath, nearly shimmying in excitement. "Well, here it goes. Charles Wright and Lucy Carter are having an affair!"

The gasps that echoed through the shop rivaled the volume of the wind outside. Though most of the town was fairly poor, there were a few wealthy and revered citizens in Queensburgh. The Carters had been ingrained in Queensburgh's history for ages, and the house and the inheritance had recently fallen into the hands of James Carter and his newlywed bride Lucy. Charles Wright had been James's best friend since early childhood.

"No!" said one woman, clutching her hands to her chest. "Charles wouldn't do that to James, would he?"

"It's all very true. I ran into Richard on the way to the square and he had a terrible black eye. He didn't want to say anything of course, not wanting to throw Charles and Lucy under the wagon—he's always been a sweetheart like that—but I managed to coax it out of him. He does their gardening now, you know, and he went inside to ask Lucy a question and caught the pair in the act!"

"And the black eye?" asked one of the men in the doorway.

"Charles's doing." Mrs. Langley was doing her best to look somber as she pranced around the shop, but only succeeded in looking gleeful. "He stood up and punched poor Richard in the face."

"Charles always has had a problem with trouble," said another woman, clucking her tongue. "You know, when Michael and Renee were still alive, they always disapproved of James hanging around with him."

The proverbial match had been successfully lit and someone was already hurrying outside to spread the news. Riza watched helplessly as the shop went to chaos.

As people fluttered in and out of the shop, new information and rumors, all with varying degrees of believability, were passed around so quickly that it was beginning to make Riza's heart hurt. She did her best to ignore the loud, parroting voices that were overwhelming the shop, but she supposed it was better than thinking about the apprentice.

"I heard from John that James is drinking himself into oblivion," said one woman, as she manhandled the tomatoes. "Poor man."

"I heard their marriage wasn't very happy to begin with," said her companion. "Everyone always suspected Lucy was only in it for the money."

"She was always so provocative, too. Remember how she used to dress when she was younger?"

"Makes sense why she'd fall in love with a bad boy like Charles."

_Love_, thought Riza, an uncomfortable shiver creeping down her spine. _Was that love?_

Riza was not sure what she thought of love. Romantic love seemed pointless and destructive. Because Mrs. Hudson had fallen in love, she had ended up a widow. Because Mrs. Langley had fallen in love, she was met with the same fate. Because her father had fallen in love (or at least she was fairly certain he had, but it was hard imagining her father fall in love with anyone), he had been left alone and gone strange.

_Because of romantic love,_ she thought selfishly, guilt pooling in her brain. _ I ended up alone._

And because of romantic love, these three people's lives were effectively ruined.

Other types of love made her uncomfortable as well. She certainly cared deeply for her father and Mrs. Hudson, but did she love them? Never had she said the words out loud, because her father had never said them, and she wasn't sure what they entailed. Was caring for someone loving them? If that was not love, was she a bad person for not loving them?

These thoughts were quickly overwhelming her, so she pushed them to the back burner along with thoughts of the apprentice and continued about her work.

The gossip kept the store busy all the way to closing, and by the time she shut down the store, grabbed her coat and her boots, and walked out the door, the sun was already dipping beneath the skyline. The sky was breathtaking—scarlet streaks intertwining with puffy, snow clouds, bathing everything around her in bursts of orange light. The snowflakes, just now beginning to fall, glowed in the fading sunlight as they sprinkled down to earth, covering the square, the large, stone structure in the center of the town, and the brick-roofed stores surrounding it. Perhaps it was her inexperience with the outside world, but she thought Queensburgh itself was beautiful. The town was old, built a couple hundred years ago and then forgotten about, but it was quaint, like something out of a fairy tale.

She fumbled in her pockets for the store key, her fingers already growing numb from the freezing air, and locked up. If she hurried, she knew she could make it home before the night swallowed up the remaining light, so she pulled her jacket tight around her and began to walk.

The upper edge of town only had one thing of note—the bar. As she walked towards it, she saw the light emanating from the window and was envious of how warm it must be. The cold was making her limbs feel heavier and the combination of worries and a long day of work had made her exhausted. The prospect of going home and making dinner seemed brutal. She imagined herself sitting comfortably inside, the feeling of warmth on her toes and fingers, trying to give herself the strength to make it home—

Just as she was nearly at the entrance to the bar, she heard several yells and the door slammed open.

Two men stumbled out of the bar into the road in front of her, one with his arms raised in a cautious surrender and the other waving a gun. Though the light was dim, she recognized the pair as Charles and James. The sight of the gun sent a blow of fear to the pit of her stomach.

"You son of a bitch," said James, moving sloppily and slurring his words. "That was my wife. How could you do that to me?"

Several faces peeked out the open door of the bar. A few people made sudden, sharp movements, as if going to Charles's aid, but thought better of it. They were in James's direct line-of-sight and any motion would have gotten a bullet sent through their chest. However, Riza was right behind James, and she realized that even though James was bigger than she, there was a chance she could knock the gun away long enough for Charles to escape. She took a fearful step forward.

"Look, put the gun down," said Charles, his voice trembling. "You've had too much to drink and you're gonna get someone shot."

"Hopefully it'll be you!"

James's intoxication saved Charles, because just as James went to point the gun, he stumbled backwards. In his attempt to steady himself, he ran into Riza.

"You trying to mess with me, you little bitch?" he asked, pivoting around and raising his gun. "I'll kill you too!"

He pressed the gun to her forehead and a crippling chill, a different kind than she had been experiencing only moments before in the cold, oceaned over her. Senses kicked into overdrive, she was suddenly acutely aware of her own body: every racing heartbeat that made her chest seize, the violent trembling of her legs that threatened to take her to the ground, and the surges of adrenaline that were making her head pound. Her mind screamed at her to move or to fight or to do _something_, but her limbs wouldn't budge. Frozen in terror, she realized the last thing she was going to experience in her life was the sight of hateful, blue eyes glaring down at her.

Just as his finger began to slide along the trigger, there was a rush of motion, several screams, and the ring of a gunshot. Sure she had been shot, she took a gasping breath and prepared herself for a world of pain. But the only sensation she could feel was falling, tumbling backwards and never reaching the ground, and her vision going into greyout.

"Riza!" She tried to answer, but her lungs were frozen. "Riza, oh my god, are you alright?"

Someone yanked her arm, dragging her out of the middle of the road, and the rush of cold air brought her out of her trance and caused her vision to return. Blinking a few times, she realized she was not plummeting through the earth, but hadn't fallen at all.

"Riza, please say something!" She realized the person calling her name was Mrs. Langley, who was looking her over and shaking her arms. "Oh thank the heavens you weren't hit."

"I wasn't?" she asked, a wave of relief washing over her.

"No, some boy appeared out of nowhere and tackled James to the ground. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." Her whole body was shaking, but her movement was coming back; she wiggled first her fingers and toes, then her arms and legs, and finally her shoulder and neck. "Is anyone else hurt?"

"No. Well, James is probably a bit bruised but he's the least of our worries."

James, she saw, was thrashing underneath the restraints of three men, yelling his head off. Someone had taken the gun into custody and was holding it away from the gathering crowd, who were all pouring out of the bar and onto the street now that the coast was clear. Riza felt like she was in a dream; people circled around James and peered at her apprehensively, as if she was an animal on a farm. With every blink, she expected to wake up in her bed.

"Are you alright?" asked an unfamiliar, dark-haired boy, walking up to her.

"Oh, he's the one who pushed James out of the way!" said Mrs. Langley, excitedly patting Riza on the arm. "Thank you so much, darling."

"Thank you," echoed Riza.

"Don't mention it," he said, smiling. "I'm just glad you're okay."

The three men who had been previously restraining James were now carrying him in their arms. He had either passed out from the alcohol or had been knocked out by the men, but regardless, he was motionless.

"Let's get him to lockup," said one of them. "We'll ask the sheriff what to do with him in the morning."

They carried him off in what felt like slow motion, but at the same time, everything was moving too fast. Had that really just happened? She tried to shake herself out of her fog, but every movement she took made her feel dizzy.

"What's your name?" asked Mrs. Langley, to the boy. "I don't think I recognize you."

"I'm from Central City," he said, extended his hand out to her. "My name's Roy Mustang."

"You're the apprentice!" blurted Riza, so loudly that several heads turned to stare at the trio. "Sorry, I'm Riza Hawkeye. You're my father's new alchemy apprentice, aren't you?"

"Your father is getting another apprentice?" asked Mrs. Langley. "What an eventful day we've had."

"Yeah, I guess I am," he said, smiling and shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"I need to get home," she said, suddenly. It was already completely dark—how long had they been standing in front of the bar?—and she still had to make dinner. "Do you have your things?"

"They're down the street," he said, and he ran off to fetch them.

"Are you sure you're good to go, Riza?" asked Mrs. Langley. "You've just had a bit of a…traumatic experience."

"I'm fine," she said, even though her vision was wrong. She felt as if she had been plucked out of her body and the world around her was a moving picture. "Really, I just need to get home."

"If you're sure."

Eventually, the boy came back with his things, a trunk and a carrying bag, and Riza managed to say goodbye to Mrs. Langley. Together they set off down the street.

"Thank you," she began, when they reached farm road. "For saving my life—"

The thought brought her to a jolted halt.

_She had nearly died_.

Before she knew what was happening, she fell to her knees and vomited the contents of her stomach onto the grass, her faux-calm finally shattered. Terror seized her body once again and her breaths turned to choking gasps, as the world around her rushed back to her with frightening clarity. Her mind was screaming, urging her to run, as if she was back in that moment and staring down eternity.

She apologized to the boy at least six times, and each time he brushed her off and waited patiently for her to collect herself. This entire thing was a disaster; he was here to learn alchemy, not to save her life and watch her break down on the side of the road. Eventually, the guilt managed to rein her back in—she felt like such a _fool_—and she shakily managed to stand.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kindly.

"I'm fine." _And you_ _are fine,_ she told herself, taking a few deep breaths. _You are fine. You are safe now._ "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"It's okay."

As they kept walking, Riza held on to the mantra "you're fine" and repeated it over and over again in her head, determined to force the panic from her head and the fiery pain from her chest. What had gotten into her?

"What's your father like?"

"He's—" She felt guilty, because there was no way to put it lightly. However, if she could scare him off early, because he _would_ eventually get scared off just like the others, it would be better for everyone. "I'm not going to lie, you're the ninth apprentice he's taken and none of the others have lasted more than a month and a half. My father expects a lot from his apprentices and the training schedule is tough."

"He's sounds serious about alchemy."

"He is."

"Good." Though it was dark, she could tell he was smiling. "There'd be no point in learning from him if he wasn't. Do you know any alchemy?"

"No." Her father had never expressed a desire to teach her, nor had she ever asked. "I work at the local grocery store."

"Do you like it there?"

"It's the best grocery store in the world."

As they walked along, she realized she did not know how to talk to people her own age (for he could only have been two or three years older than her). The local children had stopped conversing with her years ago, and she could not remember the last time she had a proper conversation with someone under the age of sixty-five. She wasn't sure why this concerned her so much, because she rarely talked to anyone, much less her father's apprentices, but she supposed she owed him at least pleasant small talk for company after he saved her. Being an apprentice, she realized, had to be rather lonely. Her father didn't talk about anything other than alchemy, and the townspeople despised her father's apprentices nearly as much as they despised her father.

"How was your trip?" That was conversational, right? "The train ride, I mean."

"It was nice. I've never seen the West before. Are there this many trees everywhere?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I've only left Queensburgh a few times."

When they finally reached her house, she could have kissed the ground. Never had a warm meal and sleep sounded so appealing. Just as she placed her key in the lock, though, she paused and looked up at her new housemate.

"Mr. Mustang," she said. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you for another favor."

"What is it?"

"Don't tell my father about what happened." She didn't know how her father would react, but she knew no good would come from it. "Please, it's for the best."

"But—"

"_Please_."

"Okay." He looked at her analytically, no doubt wondering what he had gotten himself into. "Okay, I won't."

As she opened the door and let him inside, she couldn't help but wonder the same thing. Nothing exciting ever happened in Queensburgh, yet on the day he showed up, all hell broke loose. She wasn't superstitious enough to believe in bad omens, but she had a feeling that this apprentice was going to bring more trouble than the past few combined.

_And besides_, she wondered, a different kind of fear rearing its head. _How was father going to react to him?_

* * *

><p>If you're thinking "that was dramatic" then you probably aren't wrong, but I've got plans for this. Thank you all for reading, and don't hesitate to review ;)<p> 


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